West Egg Reflection
by ArchFaith
Summary: A Great Gatsby fanfic: Nick silently contemplates his friend's obsession over his unrequited love as own urges suddenly come to the forefront one lazy twilight. Not a yaoi fic more of a shonenai. Please review!


Disclaimer: All Great Gatsby elements belong to the estate of F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Author's note: Just a simple fic.

West Egg Reflection

by ArchFaith

Sometimes I don't understand you.

But then again, I don't know if I ever fully understood you at all.

As I sit here—chilled, woolen blanket wrapped around my thin shoulders, shirt untucked, hair ruffled by the wind—you stand out there, out by the edge of the pier, looking out into that damn green light.

I'm too tired to join you. And even if I wasn't, I don't know if you'd want me too. That green light—that golden girl you adore so much—she's yours alone, not mine to share. Your vision, your dream. The one thing you couldn't have.

That conceited, backstabbing cousin of mine.

What do you see in her? Sure, your past, your fun together—guess I'll never really understand. You do all this just to find her—you do all this just to make her yours—and…well, maybe it will happen, someday. _Maybe_…that's too strong a word. A possibility? Still too strong.

I don't know what to make of it. And perhaps it's better that way.

From my cold spot on the back porch your eyes turn towards mine. You give me a faint smile, then return back to your anxious waiting—your vigil, your adoration. Your hair blows in the wind—for a moment you look young. And then the vision vanishes, and there you are again, the cultured New York millionaire. Self-made fellow. The king of bootlegger lane.

Your faded, struggling smile.

I make myself rise. I'm going to do it, dammit. I can't stand this anymore—this obsession, this "unrequited love", whatever the hell you want to call it. I've never been too bold in my life, but by God I've got to do something. If I leave here without telling you—without showing you—I'd be doing us both a disfavor. And you wouldn't want me to do that, would you?

I come towards you, the grass beneath my feet rustling as I move across the lawn, closer to you and the sky and the water. You hear me coming. You turn around, a neutral look on your face as I come closer. You're probably wondering, _What's old Nick up to now? What's he got inside his bag of tricks? _I've got tricks up my sleeve and up my spine. _He's a sneaky fellow, old Nick. Better watch out. _

You're watching.

I don't say anything. In fact, nothing about what I do is fancy; I come up to you, staring you straight in the face as I unfold the blanket and move closer, grasping your shoulders with my hands. Your face isn't too startled, I see—a bit confused. You want to know what's up with me—you know I have something to do, something to say. You want me to get to the point. _Nick always gets to the point._

Alright, here's your precious point.

I edge closer and kiss you. Just kiss you. Your lips are really smooth against mine. Smooth and warm. I hope she told you that you had smooth lips. I hope she fucking told you.

That's it—that's all. It's quick. You're kind of stunned. You never closed your eyes while I kissed you—you just stood there, shock-still, while I showed you how I felt. You look at me now, with those wondering eyes, and for a while we just stand there. It seems like the world is silenced—the wind, the water, the natural sounds of the land…for a while they all disappear.

And then you speak. Your voice is slow, calculating, and you're trying hard as hell not to say anything rash. "Now look, old sport…what's that all about…?"

I look into your eyes; did you know you're one of the only people whose eyes I can look into? Maybe you're the only one, even…well, Jordan's eyes are easy to look into. But she's not really a person to me. She doesn't have a soul like you have.

"Just wanted to tell you how I felt," I say simply. The blanket hangs limply around my shoulders; I shift it up slightly.

You nod, almost like a child answering yes to something he did not really understand. Your eyes shift down; you can't look at me. You're too embarrassed. I apologize, Gatsby, I really do; but I had to do this. I had to. You have to know how I felt.

Finally you say something. "So where does this leave us?" is your simple question.

I shake my head. "Wherever you want it to leave us," I answer. When you don't say anything I begin to walk away. Mission failed. So it's not like that; so you're stuck on those feelings for that prissy bitch. Well, I don't blame you. Men have been fools for love in the past; inevitable they'd still be fools today. Back to Jordan it is. Jordan and all her many faults, the deceitful demureness I so loathe.

You look after me, your eyes fixed on my figure. As I head back to the house the winds whips through your hair again, leaving it strewn in your eyes as the water splashes up against the shore. The green light is still glittering faintly in the distance; it calls you, beckons you, tells you to go.

I hear the grass rustle under your feet as you follow me.

The End

Note: There's my short little vignette…I hope you all liked it! I first read The Great Gatsby when I was 15, and well, I didn't like it very much now. Two years later and it's one of my favorites. Now, I'm not a hardcore yaoi fan or anything; I don't stick two characters together just 'cause they'd look cute. But I felt so sorry for poor old Gatsby…dying like that, with nobody around for him! This is my answer to that nagging little detail. I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me what you thought!


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